The night isn't forever young, but neither are we
by green-eyed gracie
Summary: Kenny throws are party and several people find themselves in unexpected situations. Kenebe, Candy, Style and lots of other side pairings! Kennys POV, but I might switch it up at some point. I suck at summaries.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **** Kenny throws a party, and several people find themselves in unexpected situations. Kenebe, Candy, Style and lots of other side pairings! Kenny's POV but I might switch it up at some point. I suck at summaries.**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own anything, all of this awesomeness belongs to Matt Stone and Trey Parker!**

**Additional Stuff: ****This is my first fic! Please R&R, it would mean so much to me! I am open to constructive critisism, so please if you notice anything that you think I could improve please please please tell me! I also apologize in advance for Cartman being a homophobic asshole.**

**WARNINGS: STRONG language, underage drinking, drug use and mild slash.**

**The Night isn't forever young, but neither are we.**

**Chapter 1**

I have to admit, this time around Cartman has a valid point. Having a party at my house is a brilliant idea. Mostly because a) there is nothing valuable that can be broken, b) my house always smells like booze and weed anyway (courtesy of my dear mother and father,) and c) if my parents decided to come home from Denver a day early they would probably grab a beer and join in the instead of getting mad. Not that I have to really worry about option C. My parents car is an ancient pick-up truck that breaks down every other week and can't go over 40 mph without over-heating. In other words the situation is so fucking perfect that I'm kind of embarrassed that Cartman thought of it first.

"Fine" I say "we can have the party at my house, but only if you bring the food."

"You poor piece of crap Kinny" grumbles Cartman before grudgingly agreeing to supply snacks. This is gonna be so fucking sweet. No one knows how to buy junk food better than Cartman.

The night of the party is-

"Seriously butt freezing!" yells Cartman as he boots open my bedroom door. Normally I would be pissed that he didn't at least knock, but his arms are so laden down with jumbo sized bags of chips and cheesy puffs and every other snack food you could possibly imagine that it is a distinct possibility that he actually couldn't physically mange a knock. He dumps the contents on my bed and sits down with a dramatic sigh like he just saved a baby from a burning building or some other equally glorious act of heroism. I can feel my eyes widen at the mountain of snacks that would feed my family for at least 2 weeks.

"Jesus dude!" I say but I'm grateful that he didn't bail on me. Cartman doesn't go grocery shopping for just anyone. I'm actually very honored. He certainly seems extremely pleased with himself.

"And that's not all" he gestures towards the door where a scowling Kyle and a nervous looking Stan are standing each holding two cases of extremely cheep looking beer (I would know it's all my dad ever drinks.)

"I don't even want to know how you managed to get all this" Kyle says.

"Easy" says Cartman "I got my mom's boyfriend to get it for me. I threatened to tell my mom about the 16 year old I caught him with." He smirks in a self-satisfied sort of way and Kyle rolls his eyes.

"Where are we gonna hide these, you know, in cause you're parents show up?" Stan says, shifts uncomfortably. Stan may be one of my best friends but he really can be a dumbass sometimes. He is the youngest out of all of us. he looks older though, partly because he's the tallest at 6'3. His black hair is almost surgically straight. His dark blue eyes have a sort of wide innocent quality to them that makes it possible to believe that he's really younger than the rest of us, but you would never know if he didn't tell you.

"You really think anyone in_ this_ house is gonna give a shit about it dude?" groans Kyle, echoing my thoughts. "No offense" he adds with a quick glance at me. I wave him down. I have long since stopped giving a shit about any comments relating to the "Kenny is a poor piece of shit on food stamps" subject. None of it is news to me. "But anyway" he continues "the only thing _I'm_ worried about is that my mom is somehow gonna know I had beer, or fuck that, that I was even holding it. She has a 6th sense for that type of shit. It's like she can smell it or something." Cartman snorts

"With a nose that size it's hard not too. I don't blame you for being scared though, you're mom is a fucking bitch," he looks at Kyle with a flaky expression that is clearly mean to be understanding but doesn't do anything to hide his obvious enjoyment at insulting Kyle's mother. I wouldn't have e been surprised to see flames erupt from Kyle's nostrils at that moment. His green eyes flashed dangerously. "GODDAMMIT CARTMAN DON'T CALL MY MOM A BITCH!" He shrieks shrilly, shoving Cartman's fat ass back into a sea of potato chips with a loud crunch.

It's kind of surprising that Kyle actually manages to push him over. Kyle is tiny, like 5'5 or something. He's skinny as fuck, but with a temper to match his flaming red curls. To his credit he packs some serious power when he gets pissed, but Cartman is gargantuan at 6'0 and almost 300 pounds. It's almost obscene how huge he is, but since puberty he has become less fat and more just…extremely solid. I'm genuinely afraid that he might break my bed (which admittedly is a piece of shit) if he even moves. While Kyle and Cartman go through their extremely typical exchange of

"Jew!"

"Fatass!" And other such mature insults Stan and I catch each others eye and give each other our trademark " I don't know why we're even surprised at this point" look. It's practically a tradition with us now. Kyle and Cartman fight over something pointless and stupid and me and Stan have a silent conversation about how retarded this makes both of them look. They tire of shouting at each other after approximately 5 minutes. Kyle mutters something incoherent about having to "take a piss" and struts dramatically out of the room slamming the door behind him. Stan gives me an apologetic look that barely conceals how clear it is that he thinks Kyle is adorable when he's pissed. He silently slips out the door to follow Kyle. This leaves me alone with an extremely irate Cartman who is trying to burrow out from underneath a massive avalanche of Lays potato chips. I wince at the horrible clanking groan my beds makes when Cartman finally manages to roll off it with a crash that shakes the whole house.

"Stan about to go give his little lady a pity-fuck" he asks casually propping himself up on one elbow. Then thinking better of it, shifting onto his back instead.

"Naww probably later" I say mainly to piss him off.

"Groooosssssss" he groans. "Wait, WHAT!" he sits up straight, excitement spreading across his pudgy features at the prospect of receiving a piece of information that he could use to blackmail Kyle into doing something sick, like eat his own foot. Or suck Cartmans balls, (which he actually attempted to get Kyle to do back in 4th grade). He only does this because he is a manipulative asshole whose main objective in life is to ruin Kyle's.

"They aren't actually fucking dude" I tell him. Not that I know of anyway. Even if I did, I wouldn't fucking tellCartman,_ seriously. _He looks like someone has just told him that Christmas has been cancelled. " Your poor ass sucks so hard Kenny" he whines.

"Right back atcha fatass" I tell him automatically. He can be so dramatic. Sometimes I think that Cartman could do wonders in the musical theatre department, but of course that is only for "pussy faggots" so I keep my thoughts to myself.

Stan returns a couple of minutes later tugging Kyle by the hand.

"Ha fags," Cartman snickers nastily. Both of them turn scarlet and drop each other's hands causing him to laugh harder. I _have _noticed a lot of little affectionate touches between them lately. Apparently because they are "super best friends" (or as Cartman calls them "Super best butt-buddies.") It makes everything they do automatically "no homo." It's ridiculous, but I don't blame anyone who is in the closet for remaining there until the end of existence as long as Eric Cartman lives on the same planet. For me, Stan and Kyle getting together would be…bitter sweet, to say the least. I wouldn't enjoy the "third wheel" experience, or being stuck with only Cartman for company when they want alone time. On the other hand, they are so damn cutesy in a "cheesy American romance novel" way that it could turn a 50 year-old man into a writhing, squealing fangirl. They are the type of couple that you can't help but root for. Cartman nods his head at them and subtly sticks his tongue in between his two fingers, waggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively. Kyle makes a noise like an angry cat and yanks Stan out the door again his face glowing like a setting sun.

During this exchange I am alternating between daydreaming about food and sex, or sometimes both. I'm so absorbed that I don't notice Cartman waving his hand energetically in front of my face. Until he kicks me off the bed that is.

"Hey asshole, I'm talking to you!"

"What" I moan irritated and rubbing my funny bone where I banged it on the floor.

"Don't be such a pussy Kinny," he says rising from the floor and walking towards the door "Some people are here so get your bitch ass out there." He closes the door leaving me alone in my bedroom. Nothing in his carefree attitude could ever convince me that he isn't totally psyched for this party. He's probably hoping to get with Wendy. It's so damn obvious that he has a MASSIVE boner for her. Kyle and I never mention it for Stan's sake (After all she is his girlfriend.) Unfortunately this has the side effect of Cartman thinking he is slipping under everyone's radar when in reality the fact that he wants to bone Wendy Testaburger is more obvious than an elephant shitting on your carpet. Of course Cartman, being Cartman doesn't give a flying fuck that Wendy is dating Stan. He would bang her if she were the goddamn first lady (but knowing Wendy she would be the president, not the first lady.) But anyway putting aside Cartman's awkwardly obvious unrequited boners for Stan's girlfriend, it looks like the entire 10 grade has congregated on my run-down front yard and are yelling for me to "open the fuck up already!" I give myself a quick once over in the cracked mirror that leans against the wall. I look pretty good. I'm too skinny, but I have muscle to my body. I spike up my blonde hair a bit and give my reflection a practice wink. I let out a deep breath. Once I'm in the hall I can hear Stan and Kyle's muffled voices coming my parents room. Kyle sounds pretty upset, but I decide against checking up on him. Stan is usually the only person he allows to talk to him when he's like this, so I pass the door without even eavesdropping while subconsciously humming the tune of "We Are Young."

When I open the door I barely have time to look at the kid on my front steps and ask

"Do I know you?" before I'm pushed roughly aside and kids are pouring into my house, like the foam that comes from a bottle of Coke that someone shook when you weren't looking. I only recognize about ¼ of the people on sight, but fuck it I don't give a crap. Craig and Tweek bring up the rear lugging a boom box that is already blasting something that might be dub step at ear-splitting volume. I'm just thinking that I didn't think of Craig as someone who had shitty music taste, when his, nasally monotone voice yells over the noise of the party

"_I_ didn't make the fucking playlist Token! That was Tweek and Clyde!" I should have guessed. Clyde is defiantly a "top 40 on ITunes" type of guy, and I think Tweek must like dub step being it's as twitchy as he is.

At parties I always give myself two options, a) get trashed and act like a totally shameless slut or b) Or sit back and observe my classmates acting retardedly for a while and THEN get trashed and act like a totally shameless slut. I thoroughly enjoy being "that" friend that informs you of all the dumb shit you did last night. The facial expressions are reliably worth missing a good half hour of partying. This time I decide to go for option b. I usually like to alternate, and I chose the other option at Token's a few weeks back. I found out later that the aftermath involved me, Bebe, nudity, a bathtub and lots and lots of shaving cream. It must have been pretty hot, but I don't remember jack-shit unfortunately. Bebe and I have a complicated relationship. Both of us are equally slutty, but we both prefer each other when it comes to whorish activities. I actually don't think I've done anything with another girl since Bebe and I started fooling around. I would totally date her, but I just don't trust myself. I am a natural flirt, it's quite a significant part of my identity and it isn't ok for someone who is "in a relationship" to flirt the way I do. We are actually very good friends. We genuinely like each other. Speaking of Bebe, I see her sitting on the couch across the room. She sipping a beer and when I catch her eye she waves and beckons me over. Her long blonde hair is in loose curls down her back. She is wearing a studded jean vest covered in pins over a scoop neck black tee and dark wash bell-bottoms. Bebe is pretty tall so instead of heels she is wearing a pair of artistically doodled on ratty black converse. She doesn't just look hot, she looks beautiful. It makes feel subtle butterflies. I scoff at myself inwardly, I'm Kenny fucking McCormick, the best seducer to ever walk the earth. I walk confidently over to her. It's always it's always more fun to laugh at the misfortunes of drunk assholes around someone who enjoys it as much as you do. Like Bebe for example.

"Hey babe" I say with a wink.

"Hey" she says taking a slow sip of beer, and then offering it to me. I chug what's left of it, and she flips me off, she's kidding, but I get her a new bottle anyway.

"You look beautiful by the way" I say smoothly offering her a bag of cheetos.

"Thanks" she says carelessly, but I can tell she's pleased. She daintily selects a cheeto (who the hell eats only ONE cheeto?) She pops it into her mouth. Orange dust falls onto her strawberry lip-gloss slathered lips. The strawberry lip-gloss is my favorite closely followed by the vanilla chapstick. Both of them are damn delicious. As she crunches on the cheeto, the crumbs that escaped past her lips have fallen in between her fairly sizable boobs. Bebe's remarkablly sharp blue eyes follow my gaze, she raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow at me.

"What" I widen my eyes innocently at her. She punches my shoulder playfully.

"My eye's are up here asshole." I stick me tongue out at her and she laughs. That's what I like about Bebe, she's just chill like that. Nothing throws her. We are actually incredibly similar. We are a pair of blonde, blue-eyed perverts. She is also a great kisser with gigantic tats. Really, what's not to like?

Out on the "dance floor" Clyde is drunk as fuck and is attempting to grind up against anyone who comes within 3 feet of him, boys or girls. I think he's too far gone to even notice the difference.

"You know" I say to Bebe " I would have always pegged Clyde as a weepy drunk not a-"

"Horny bastard?" she asks

"Exactly"

She grins "He doesn't need to be drunk to be a total crybaby."

"Touché" I poke her in the ribs, and she giggles. Bebe and Clyde have been best friends since forever. She says this type of shit to his face all the time. They call it "tough love" when they rip on each other, because while everything they say to each other is 100% true they will always love each other in a dysfunctional sort of way. I used to be insanely jealous of Clyde until, one day when they were ragging on each other like usual and I said "Why don't you two just date already?" or maybe I kind of screamed it. But anyway they nearly died laughing and reassured me between gasps of mirth that they were practically related and that they considered even thinking about it total incest. Its kind of a mystery how they even became friends in the first place because they have different friend groups. Clyde hangs around with Token, Craig and Tweek, while Bebe is with Wendy, Red and occasionally Heidi or Annie if Wendy is to busy with Stan. Literally every single one of the three main friend groups has remained unchanged since 4th grade. There's Me, Stan, Kyle and Cartman, "Craig's gang" and Wendy/Bebe's group. Most people are just sort of free-floaters who are with one group one day and a different one the next. The rest are people like Butters who are accepted by the general community even if they are tortured mercilessly by it.

To my right Butters is doing the "cotton-eyed Joe" off the side of the massive mob that is currently fist pumping to "Shots." This behavior might be socially excusable if there was even the remotest possibility that he was wasted, but knowing Butters as well as I do, I also know that that chance is less than zero. He's wearing an innocent smile as he shakes his hips in circles and taps his heel on the ground hopelessly offbeat. He keeps touching his carefully gelled hair. I send a silent prayer that Cartman doesn't notice him. Just then a sweaty-faced Wendy and a positively _dripping_ Cartman have just emerged from the left-side of what I will now be referring to as "the mob." Wendy has clearly attempted to straighten her black hair, but the heat combined with being near the humidifier that is Cartman have caused the ends to curl up and the top to frizz pretty badly. Her eyeliner has melted a little and traveled into the cornered of her chocolate brown eyes. She has a stupid grin plastered on her face, her skinny arm slung across Cartman's broad shoulders. I can just see the tips of her French manicure peeking out from the edge of his left bicep. Cartman has his arm around her waist pressing their thighs together. She is only wearing a pair of jean booty shorts and a hot pink sugar lip with no shoes. She looks more like a dwarf next to Cartman than usual. Most of the time her heels add a good three inches to her height, making her just tall enough to see eye-to-eye with Kyle, but flat-footed and flushed with heat she somehow seems more human. I can't help noticing that Cartman's hand is steadily traveling lower until he's practically grabbing her ass. For some reason she doesn't seem to mind, maybe she's just really drunk. Cartman expression couldn't be any smugger. He flips the brown hair that is plastered to his forehead out of his hazel eyes and mouths something at me that looks like "She wants the dick." They halt in front of me and Bebe like a slightly tipsy circus act that smells strongly like a mix of axe, White diamonds perfume by Elizabeth Taylor and body odor. I don't know why Wendy is even letting Cartman touch her, he looks like he crawled out of a lake.

"Oh. My. God. Cartman did you like dip yourself in olive oil or something?" Bebe say her jaw dropping in genuine shock. She looks half disgusted and half amused by this new development of "closeness" between Wendy and Cartman. I just know she is gonna give Wendy hell about it for the rest of her life . Cartman must be on top of the world right now because all he does in response to Bebe's comment is flip her off good-naturedly before he saunters off with Wendy still attached to her hip for more beer (Cartman and Wendy) and Fritos (just Cartman.) Next to me Bebe is shaking with silent laughter. "Oh Jesus" she repeats over and over. " Jesus Christ." I feel a little guilty when I think of Stan. I haven't seen him this entire time. He wouldn't take Wendy dumping him for Cartman very well (I mean who would?) Stan is pretty sensitive, to the point of being a pussy sometimes. Stan is still my bro, and I don't mind helping him out. Not tonight though. I do not want to be the sober friend who sits with Stan on the floor of my filthy closet and consoles him while he drinks himself into a stupor and sobs uncontrollably. I love Stan to death, but fuck no.

"Hey Bebe" I say "lets get fucked up" unexpectedly she leans over and gives me a surprisingly gentle kiss on the cheek. It leaves behind a slightly sticky patch of lip-gloss, still warm from her lips, or maybe its because my facing is burning up.

"I thought you'd never ask."

**So there you have it guys! I hope you liked it! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Welcome to Kenebe central! Yep so this chapter is all about Kenny and Bebe! Enjoy, and also a HUGE thanks to everyone who reviewed! You guys are AWESOME, and you give me the inspiration to keep writing! **

**The night isn't forever young. But neither are we.**

**Chapter 2**

I Kenny McCormick will be the first to admit it. I am a party animal, through and through. I'm kind of like Clyde, I will grind anyone who comes anywhere near me when I'm gone. However a way better stamina than anyone I know, _especially_ Clyde who is currently puking his guts out into my mothers rose bushes. Bebe has drunk more than I have ever seen her drink. I just hope that she can hold it. I would much rather be doing illicit things in a dark corner somewhere than hold back her hair. If she needed it I would do it though.

"Kennnnyyy" she slurs in my ear, "lez go outside."

"Mmhmm babe" I whisper in her ear with the best seductive voice I can manage at the present moment. She shivers slightly drawing closer to me. I tuck a stray curl of golden hair behind her ear, simultaneously sliding an arm around her waist. I remember it being a lot colder, but with the alcohol burning inside I don't even feel a chill, nor it seems, does Bebe. We sit down on my stoop. She leans against me.

"So nice out," she mutters distractedly.

"Yeah" I breathe, mystified as to why my breath is coming out in silver puffs of smoke. I try to catch it but it just slips through my fingers.

"Whys, it I can't catch it?" I say to no one in particular.

"Cause its smoke silly" Bebe giggles and ruffles my hair fondly. Her eye makeup is smudged, but she's still sexy as fuck. She hunches herself over, propping her elbows on her knee and resting her chin in her hands. I can see straight down her shirt. Score. She sighs, tiredly and plays with the frayed edge of her vest.

"Kenny, what exactly am I too you?" she avoids my gaze, nawing on her lip. Somehow I don't think it's the alcohol talking. It's a serious question.

"Um, I dunno, lotsa things I guess" My stupid brained seems to have jammed. All my words are getting tangled around my tongue on the way out of my mouth. "You're a friend, a good friend, a good kisser, um you're pretty cool n' stuff." I'm not doing a very good job of explaining my feelings towards her. Fuck, if I had any balls I would tell her that is she's beautiful and perfect and that I love her, but since I don't my brilliant brain has come up with that she's "pretty cool n'stuff." Damn you brain. Damn you to hell. "Oh" is all she says. Bebe is not a crier, she is tough and never takes shit to heart. But now I can see her struggling to hold it in. her bottom lip is trembling and her eyes are shining with unshed tears. I'm completely at a loss for what to do. I'm suddenly aware of how cold the wind is. The situation is sobering in more than one way. I punch myself mentally and remind myself that _this_ is exactly why I can't be trusted to date her. I can't be trusted with her feelings. All I'll do is hurt her. I never want to her hurt her. She deserves someone better, someone who is nice and romantic, someone who can afford to buy her flowers and chocolates and all that other dumb shit on valentine's days. I could never be that guy. I'm just not good enough. I deserve someone who is a stupid worthless piece of trailer trash. Just like me. Not like Bebe. Bebe whose smarts are only second best to Wendy and Kyle's. Bebe who may be slutty, but never bitchy or catty. Bebe who is funny and beautiful. Bebe who is most certainly not worthless. Silent tears are pouring down her face. Filthy little rivers that leaves lines of dark residue striped across her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry" she sobs, " I can't believe I was so _stupid_" She gulps, and takes a shaky breath as she turns to me. "We can't do this anymore, this little games we play because-" she closes her eyes as through bracing herself for an impact "I love you." The first thought that passes my lips is

"Why?" She glares at me.

" Just love you asshole, okay? If you don't love me I'll understand. Just don't fucking say oh we can still be friends." I'm silent. I can't believe this is happening. I don't do "love" I can't handle it. It's all too much.

"You could just leave! I know you don't feel the same way so why don't you go hookup with someone else" she shrieks.

"I DO LOVE YOU!" I scream my voice echoing around my empty yard. A couple of goth kids stop smoking pot by the curb to turn and stare at us. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?" I scream at them and they turn away.

"I'm not good enough for you," I say quietly burying my face in my hands. I've never been good at talking about my feelings. I'm groping in the dark in an unknown territory and it scares me. For some reason Bebe's face breaks into an amused grin. I don't see what's so damn funny about the situation.

"You're a fucking idiot McCormick, you know that?"

"I was actually aware of that, thanks," I grumble. She throws her head back and roars with laughter. "After all this time, you were just worried that you weren't _good_ enough, wow, just wow." She leans back, still grinning.

"But Bebe!" I steel myself to say it. I know that by doing so I could be giving up the girl of my dreams, but I have to. It's only fair to her. "I'm not good with romance shit!"

"Last time I checked you were" she winks cheekily. I force myself not to laugh.

"That's not what I mean! I mean like romantic Valentine's Day things! I'm a worthless slut, you deserve better." I cross my arms over my chest stubbornly. She rolls her eyes.

"Oh please" she scoffs "That is the most ridiculous piece of bullshit I have ever heard come out of your mouth. First of all, if you're a worthless slut than so am I. And second of all, I don't want someone 'better.' I want you." She blushes, something I have never seen her do and immediately adore. Bebe has never lied to me. She wants me. She really wants me. I could have cried with relief right then and there, but instead I kiss her.

Our lips have touched a million times before, but this time is different. This kiss speaks of promises to be fulfilled. I can feel underneath everything, that it means something, and its more fucking perfect than I could ever imagine. The lingering taste of strawberry and vodka on her breath make me feel drunk all over again. The smell of her Christina Aguilera perfume, spearmint and detergent are intoxicating to me. I want to wrap myself in her scent. I want to bathe in it. I feel like I've been electrocuted, the currents pulsing through my veins lighting my blood on fire. Beneath her skin, her heartbeat is fluttery and irregular against my chest. She's perfect, the kiss is perfect, and everything is oh so warm. Her slender fingers obsessively trace the golden stubble that lines my jaw with a touch as light as a butterflies'. I stroke her hair, running my fingers through its silky waves. She runs her teeth teasingly along my bottom lip and I start to lose control. I pull back breathing heavily.

"Lets take this, inside," I say between breaths. She gives a mischievous grin and grabs my hand. Her hand is lost in mine, but her grip is tight. Together we run around the other side of the shit-hole I call a house. I pull open the rusting screen door. We stumble into the hallway, banging into walls and giggling like idiots. She collapses against my bedroom door laughing helplessly. I scoop her up bridal style and kick open the door.

Sunlight is shining painfully brightly through the ratty and torn up curtains. I've always hated those fucking curtains. It me way too long to even figure out where I am, being more preoccupied with my throbbing left knee and aching head. What the fucking happened last night? I sit up causing my head to jolt painfully. I'm sitting in the corner of my completely TRASHED living room. I'm only wearing a pair of inconspicuously stained boxer shorts which I'm pretty sure don't belong to me. Honestly I don't know why I'm surprised. I decide to keep the boxers. Whoever they belonged to probably won't miss them. Next to me Bebe is snoring lightly, garbed in my filthy white t-shirt and a pair of hot pink yoga underwear that reads "PARTY GIRL" across the butt in sparkling silver lettering and my crumpled orange parka is seeing service as her pillow. Her shorts lie a couple of feet away but the rest of her clothes lie nowhere in sight. Not wanting to be the first target of a woman with a hangover who can't find half her clothes I try to stand up quietly. My knee is proving to be a slight problem though. Its pretty badly bruised and hurts like a bitch. I hobble to the bathroom clutching at my head with one hand while ransacking our medicine cabinet for aspirin with the other. Aspirin is one of the few things that I can consistently count on to be in my house. Without even bothering to count out the pills, I simply choke down a small hand full of the tablets dry and collapse on the toilet seat. I should probably get something to treat my knee or some coffee, or water at least, but I don't. Instead I run my hands through my hair (which for some reason is wet) and rack my brains for some kind of memory of last night. I don't know how long I sit there, but no matter how hard I try the last thing I can remember is banging Bebe's head on the doorframe as I carried her into my bedroom. So then why the FUCK did I wake up in the living room? I have no idea. God fucking dammit. I guess I'll have to admit that I have to resort to the embarrassment of asking around to see if anyone else saw what happened. Then of course I'll be subject to the constant torture of knowing that that person saw it. Whatever it was, I'm sure it was quite an incredible sight. I stumble out into the hallway. All I want is to just drop everything and take a nap. I open my bedroom door and stop dead.

I feel my jaw-drop.

"Okay, just what the_ FUCK_, is going on here!"

**DUN DUN DAAAAA! I'm mean for cutting it off here, but I'll try and update as soon as I can, so I hope you can forgive me. I also am wondering what you guys think shocked our dear Kenny McCormick that much. Until next time ma dears.**


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